


'Til I'm Home Again

by HaloNoir



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2015082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaloNoir/pseuds/HaloNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth and Daryl's journey, if things had gone a different way. Now AU. Started right after Beth's kidnap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was dusk of the first day after Beth had been taken when Daryl found her again. Longest twenty-four hours of his life so far – and there had been a lot of long days.

The gang that had swept him up in their wake were heading back to their base, an old feed warehouse, he’d guessed, from the look of it in the distance. He had trudged along with them, sullenly, for hours now, shrugging off their questions with nothing more than a grunt or two.

Daryl was numb, all that he could he could do was replay the events of the night before, think how he could’ve prevented Beth from being taken, could’ve protected her. His feet dragged through the dirt now and his heart felt as though it were in his boots with them.

He should’ve made the connection, when they’d started leering at him, bumping elbows and raising eyebrows. As it was, it wasn’t until they got to the dirt drive and he saw the still fresh tyre tracks that he felt his stomach drop away to join his heart. He forced his feet to keep moving, hoped the thugs hadn’t noticed the hitch in his step.

Joe, the leader of the pack, banged his fist against the rolldown, hollering for the “boys” inside to open up. Daryl felt that old hyperawareness settle over him like an old blanket. He could feel the strap of the Stryker digging into his shoulder, knew if he rolled his shoulders forward just a fraction and slid his fingers under the strap just so, he could have the weapon in his hand in less than a second, loaded in less than two.  The bowie handle was digging into his hipbone, his ankle holster was missing its knife – last he’d seen it, it’d been tucked in Beth’s belt.

The door rattled up, pulled up from some lackey inside. Daryl clocked a staff door off to the side of the building, onto the loading dock, as the men began to disappear inside. He tossed a last look outside, took stock of the land in the fading light and ducked his head under, the last man in.

It took him a minute for his eyes to adjust to the murk. The place was a damn pigsty. The high windows hadn’t been cleaned in God knew how long, so only the faintest traces of evening light were filtering in. It was like a shantytown, with bedding, empty tins and trash strewn all over the place. The only clear space was at the back of the room, equipped with another roll down door – perfect for driving straight through, especially perfect considering that there in space was a dark car. The same dark car.

Daryl scanned the sides of the cavernous room, there were men standing in the shadows and Daryl didn’t think they were looking at him particularly friendly-like. They crept towards the circle too, shepherding him in.

Joe clapped a couple of the guys on the shoulders as he went past, a regular rockstar. Daryl’s unease grew as he took note of the local crowd: no women. He reckoned there were maybe twelve guys in all.

A man about Daryl’s age, scarred and mean looking, pulled Joe aside, told him something it looked Joe was pretty pleased about: another clap on the shoulder. Daryl stopped at the circle’s edge, hemmed in on almost every side. Joe took the centre stage like a natural.

“Good evening boys! We got a new a member, let’s hear it for Daryl!” There was an unenthusiastic rumble of welcomes and how-do-you-dos.

“Of course, as you all well know, you can’t just walk in here. You need to show that you’re a good fit for us, that you can provide, that you can do whatever it takes, ain’t that right, boys?” Joe smiled, flashing those teeth in a way that reminded Daryl of those TV salesmen. The older man stepped back towards the car, rubbing his hands with glee.

“So, without any further ado, here’s your entrance exam,” He popped the trunk open and Daryl nearly collapsed at the sight of Joe wrenching a bound, gagged and thoroughly beaten skinny blonde.

“Welcome to Hooverville!”

 


	2. Chapter 2

After the darkness, the light of the room dazzled Beth, leaving her blinking stars from her eyes. Before she could process what was happening fingers were twisted into her hair, wrenching her up and out of the trunk. Knees that had been jammed against her chest gave out as soon as she hit the ground. She could hear laughter and beneath the confusion she could feel that newfound fury stewing.

She’d been in the dark for hours now.  Maybe a day. Her mouth was sore and swollen from the strip of material they’d wound tight around her lower face. Her ribcage was killing her from the kicking she’d gotten when they shoved her into the car.

As Beth shook the light out of her eyes, Beth remembered that her Daddy had always told her to forgive, to let things go, but the rest of the prison group must have been rubbing off on her: she blamed Daryl. Instead of forgiveness and enlightenment, Beth could feel a molten and frighteningly animalistic rage bubbling up in her chest.

Beth managed to push herself up to her feet. If she was going to meet her God, she was going to meet him on her feet, not on her knees in front of these beasts. A grey man loomed over her, laughing at her. He reached for her and she tried to pull away. She was rewarded for her defiance by being pushed into the the car, head snapping off bumper and knees crunching against the hard ground. Her head was thumping now.

The Grey Man was speaking but Beth couldn’t seem to make out the words, the roaring in her ears was too loud and the lights too bright. He gestured and smirked and twisted her head around in a way that reminded her of the livestock shows she’d been to with her Daddy when she was young. Before all this.

Her vision wheeled around. She was surrounded by menacing shapes, menacing men. It looked as though she was in a warehouse of some kind. Her normal response to shelter had to be tamped down. This was definitely not the welcoming sort.

Beth was in the nightmare scenario, she knew that now. She had tried to convince herself into hopefulness while she’d been in the trunk of the car, a feat in itself, but the time for optimism had passed. She tried to recall everything Maggie, Rick and Daryl had taught her. She was going to go down kicking and screaming in the least.

Her hearing started to clear up. She wasn’t far off with her original thought: she was going to be treated as nothing better than cattle. She heard the Grey Man taunting someone, telling him to prove that he was a “real man” before he threw Beth down to the floor, again. Her jaw clicked shut with a clack as she hit the ground and she could taste the iron in her blood. She got her hands under her chest to push herself up once more again. She looked up from underneath the curtain of blonde at her would be rapist. What she saw nearly collapsed her. Disbelief followed by relief followed by hopelessness all over again: Daryl.

Her one consolation had been that Daryl had gotten away, but here he was, looking even worse than she could have imagined. He seemed to have aged years in what could only have been a day. There were purple smudges under his eyes and his clothes were dark with sweat. It never occurred to Beth to think how she must look.

Daryl’s eyes were as wide as she had ever seen them, wider than even Never Have I Ever had set them. He took a step toward her before hesitating. His eyes flicked up to the Grey Man behind her.  She understood, kept her face blank, just like she had always done when her father had caught her doing something red handed. Daryl stepped toward her again, more purposefully this time.

“What the fuck is this?” He said, hoarse. She cringed as he bent down to seize her by the arm. He pulled her to her feet, more harshly than either of them would like.

“Consider it your welcome gift,” the Grey Man sneered, “Now,” he paused for a theatrical leer as Daryl pulled Beth flush against him, “Why don’t you show us what you’re made of?”

Beth could feel Daryl’s muscles tensed and ready to go as she steadied herself against him. He was staring down the Grey Man. After a beat he pulled her against him completely and she let out a squeal behind the gag. She could see the feral men over his shoulder. With one hand he pulled her head back by her hair and for a split second Beth wondered just how well she knew Daryl Dixon.

Even as Beth’s eyes flicked nervously to Daryl’s mouth his other hand guided her hand to his hip. Her eyes widened even further before her hand closed around the handle of the bowie knife. She understood.


	3. Chapter 3

Daryl tried not to breathe in too deep, tried not to be distracted by the sweet smell of canned peaches that was still in the halo of Beth’s hair. He kept his eyes trained on Joe even as he dipped his head down to hers. Her baby blues were shining over the filthy rag they’d swaddled her jaw with. They hardened when she felt the knife on his hip.

“C’mon now. Less of the lovey doveyness.” Joe taunted.

“Trust me.” Daryl whispered as he shifted his hands to her waist. She nodded, and he felt the knife slip out of its case.

Everything happened in a blur, as these sorts of things always do. Daryl pushed Beth to the side, sending his knife with her as she went. Just as he knew he could, the bow was in his hands in less than seconds. Joe moved almost as fast, throwing himself behind the sedan. His bulky second in command wasn’t so fast and was down before he knew what had, literally, hit him.

Beth was sprinting to his right and ploughed into a couple of the smaller men on the edge of the semi circle. Brave girl. Daryl took out the next two in the line, before someone slammed into him from behind.

The air whooshed out of Daryl’s lungs as he hit the floor twisting. A mangy bruiser was on top of him, pummelling away. Daryl struggled to keep him away from his neck with one hand while he flailed for a weapon with the other. He cursed as he realised he was out of knives. He abandoned his plan and scrabbled for the bow instead. His hands closed over it just as mangy’s hands closed around his neck.

With a roar, Daryl smashed the heavy weapon into the attacker’s face, where it met bone with a crunch. The man slumped off and Daryl clambered to his feet, ducking another swing. To his relief, he saw Beth staggering to her feet. A punch and a knee to the groin of the latest thug and he was sprinting for her, grabbing her by the arm and their feet slapping noisily against the cement floor. The last few men were reeling from the sudden turn of events and were too slow to respond to Joe’s scream of “catch ‘em!”

Daryl knew he was half dragging Beth as they reached the side door, but he couldn’t afford to let up any. In another couple of seconds someone would screw their head on right and start shooting at them.

The tin door ricocheted loudly of the side of the building as the two barrelled through. Daryl was sure that it would be loud enough, along with the ruckus they just caused, to draw walkers. That could work to their advantage, he thought, as he eyed the line of the woods looming ahead. Joe’s screams of fury reached their peak. The walkers would hear that, alright.

Daryl could hear the ragged pants coming from Beth, whose wrist he still had in a vice like grip. He was too afraid to turn back and look at her. He couldn’t believe his luck and half expected that if he turned around, he would see some sweet blonde waif who was definitely not Beth.  Or she would be wounded. Or noth there at all. Lord knew the mind could play tricks.

Minutes passed, with the wind in his ears. It was only when she caught her foot in a root and went down that he let them stop. They collapsed into the dirt, just like they did that day, after the prison fell. Daryl rolled onto his back, chest heaving with exertion. And at last he saw that it was really Beth. He wasn’t dreaming. Her bright blonde hair, undimmed by dirt and trauma was the final confirmation.

Beth smiled at him, as her breath choked in and out. The bundle of rags was around her neck now, revealing the purplish bruises covering her jaw. She reached out her hand for his and twined their fingers together, making up for all the words that they couldn’t get out.

They lay like that for a while, probably too long. When they finally got enough air in them to stand again, Beth looked like Bambi on ice, all wobbly and cute. Daryl bit down a smile. The smile disappeared altogether when he saw her wince and clutch her side. He hadn’t forgotten how he’d failed her.

“C’mon. We gotta keep moving. Joe and the rest of ‘em will be trackin’ us now.” He told her, as he slid the crossbow back into its rightful place. Beth nodded as she re-tied her hair.  Daryl led them off into the darkening woods. Before he could get a solid lead on her, though, she grabbed for his hand again. He found he didn’t want to let it go.

They found a tree that might as well have been a gift from heaven: Big and wide, easy to climb, with a fork right in the middle that might as well have been a love seat. So long as whoever was following them didn’t look right up, they were set. And it was biter proof. It was as better than anything else they were going to find before the sun went down. Daryl boosted Beth up and made the clamber himself.

He expected there to be more awkwardness as they tried to arrange themselves under the one blanket. She laughed when his stomach growled but they were oddly quiet, the day’s exhaustion eating away at them. It was only when they were nodding off that she reached for his hand again, grabbing his attention.

“So,” she broke the whispering of the trees, he voice holding a strange lilt “did you?”

“Did I what?” He asked in honest confusion.

“Miss me when I was gone?” As small and sleepy as her voice was, he could hear the smile in it. He didn’t answer, just let out a low grunt that made her laugh and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, surprising even himself. She sank into his chest and passed into sleep.

Daryl kept sleep at bay, feeling the rise and fall of Beth’s chest, a small and fantastic thing. He kept watch until the first rays of dawn broke over the trees. All night Daryl had fancied he could hear the sounds of prowling men, all through the hills of Georgia. 


	4. Chapter 4

Beth woke late on the second day. The light was already gold in the leaves of the trees. They were heading into fall now and she was grateful for Daryl sharing his blanket with her. At that thought, she turned to look at him. She wanted to call him her rescuer (her prince, the back of her mind added, traitorously) but she supposed she might have rescued herself, to an extent. She was proud of that. The new and improved Beth Greene, who owed a great deal of thanks to Daryl Dixon.

The man in question looked much younger in sleep. The lines around his mouth and eyes disappeared into nothing. She wondered how old he really was. Wondered if he’d ever had the chance to develop laughter, rather than worry, lines. Probably not, going off of what he had told her at the cabin.

Beth realised, as she tried to scooch away from the sleeping hunter, that their legs were entwined. Something about it touched her in a way she couldn’t explain. She took her time in extracting herself: he needed all the sleep that she could give him. She looked at the drop: not as bad as she had feared. She supposed she might as well make herself useful. She wasn’t sure Daryl would be thrilled, but she didn’t think he’d be ticked, so she prised the crossbow off of him.

Swinging her legs off of the side of the tree before she was dropping through the air, Beth was reminded of the swings that had used to be in the backyard, back at the farm. She wondered if they were still standing. She landed quietly, her childhood gymnastics lessons coming back to her. Time for a spot of breakfast hunting.

It took her about an hour, she reckoned, to find and shoot the rabbit. The flush of victory was quickly tamped down by the guilt she felt at killing the poor thing. Though Beth’s faith had been fluctuating ever since the crap hit the fan, she found herself dropping to her knees beside the tiny corpse and sending a few words skywards for it’s, and her, soul’s sake.

There was a moment of alarm, when Beth thought she might be lost, but as soon as she reached the stage of panic, where she could feel the bile in the back of her throat, she came across the tree. And there was Daryl, still sleeping in its arms. The image made Beth’s breath catch: something about Daryl and nature all twined into one. She shook it off. It was almost noon now, so he better start stirring himself. She wasn’t so naïve these days as to think that those horrible men would have given up on them.

She dragged the kindling she’d gathered and still warm rabbit to the base of the tree before she leaned up and poked Daryl’s side with one of his spare bolts. On the third tap, he lurched awake so comically that he woke to her laughter mingling with the birds’. He didn’t quite smile at her, but looked at her in that way she knew was only for her.

“Mornin’” Daryl threw down the pack and jumped down in the same way she had, still clutching the blanket. He stretched his back out, all crackles and pops, as she drew the sticks together in something resembling a fire place.

“Mornin’, Daryl,” She smiled at him, wondering how long it would take him to see her prize. He settled down besides her, rolling his head to work out the kinks and Beth couldn’t help but laugh at him again.

“What?” He asked, that old tone in his voice. A year ago, that would have sent her running.

“You ain’t noticed?”

“Noticed what?” This time she did laugh, before she pushed his crossbow back to him. His eyes widened in something like alarm, flickering between her and the weapon.

“What’re you doin’ with that?”

“Catching us breakfast, sleepy-pants.” She teased. Daryl’s eyes finally landed on the animal, “Mind doin’ the honours?”

“Huh.” Was all Daryl had to say, and that was enough for her. It was the way he looked at her that was important. Like she wasn’t completely useless.. Like he was proud of her.

Before long, the smell of rabbit and smoke was mingling nicely in the noon air. Daryl rent the meat into pieces for them as Beth put out the fire. Daryl peered up at her as he took a bite out of a leg.

“Not bad.” The highest of compliments from Daryl Dixon. She glowed at the statement. That didn’t stop her flicking a twig at the man, though. He shucked it off.

“Thank you.” She told him.

“For what?”

“For saving me.” Daryl dunked his head and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Was my fault.”

“What? No!” Beth was horrified and made no attempt to keep it out of her voice.  But of course Daryl was already in his well of despair. Beth shuffled over to where he was sitting and, after a moment of hesitation, placed her arm over his hunched shoulders. His bowman muscles clenched in response but she didn’t relent and he softened.

“It wasn’t your fault. You have to know that.”

“Shouldn’ta let ya be taken.” He mumbled softly, looking at her from under his messy hair.

“You didn’t let them, they just did, and we made it in the end!” The brightness of her tone was hard to resist, and she could see him bending, “Please, don’t blame yourself.”

Daryl paused in thought, scratching scribbles into the dirt with one of her twigs. He dropped it and stood, bringing her up with him.

“A’right.”  He said, though she wasn’t sure he really meant it.

“Good!” And before she could talk herself out of it, Beth was landing a wet one on Daryl’s cheek. She let him go and went to check the fire was out properly, leaving Daryl in her wake.

They were down a pack, but it took them longer than either of them would have liked to pack and tidy up, hiding the fact that they had been there. Beth had been sentimental, to start with, whenever the group or just she and Daryl had had to leave somewhere that had been good to them, but she was learning to let it go. She patted the wood of the tree affectionately.

There was a sharp thunk. A knife landed point first in the old bark, not even an inch from Beth’s pinky finger. There wasn’t even time to scream.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Daryl watched as the shock of the knife slamming into tree sent Beth flying back, tripping over her own feet. He turned to see the figure that had taken aim at his girl. Daryl was pulling his bow round front when Joe flew into him, sending them both into the still hot remains of the breakfast fire.

Daryl pushed aside the pain, trying to make the most of Joe’s shock at the burn, to punch him squarely across the jaw, clearing him off. Daryl managed to get his feet under him but the crossbow was stuck, twisted behind him. He grabbed the big hunting knife embedded in the tree, sparing a precious second to see Beth go down under a skinny blonde guy. Before he could do anything about it, Joe was on him again, whaling on him with his fists.

There was nothing quick about Joe’s attack. For the older man, this was all about establishing dominance, regaining pride. Daryl slashed out at him but underestimated Joe’s speed and got a split lip for his trouble. The man was surprisingly strong and Daryl’s confidence wavered. There was a scream from Beth and suddenly Daryl was on the offensive. Now they were getting to the meat of it. Joe pulled out another knife, a steak knife by the look of things.  He twirled the serrated knife between his fingers, feinting left and right, Daryl’s eyes following the steel nervously.

There was another shriek and groan from somewhere in Beth’s direction and Daryl could feel his focus scrambling. Joe lunged. Daryl managed to deflect the knife away with his, holding it above both of their heads, but Joe was slamming his other fist into Daryl’s exposed ribs, doubling him over. And then the elbow came cracking down over the back of his head, leaving Daryl sprawled on the forest floor. He rolled over in time for Joe to straddle his chest, the air whooshing out of him, with his wrists pinned by Joe’s knees.

“This is the penalty you pay, boy, for disobedience. What a shame, you could have belonged, with us.” Joe lifted his hand with the knife, but as he opened his mouth to deliver one last insult, he cut himself short with a ragged sob. Daryl frowned in confusion, his brain struggling to catch up as a dark stain bloomed down the front of Joe’s plaid shirt, before trickling onto Daryl’s chest.

The bearded man made as though to speak, jaw flapping like one of those bass that Merle used to catch. His hands released the knife to cradle his wound. No sound came from his mouth but an odd gurgle, before the blood started pouring out of there, too. Daryl was in shock. He pushed at the man and was aided by small hands pulling at Joe’s shuddering shoulders.

There was a small grunt of exertion and Beth appeared, like the angel Daryl had always thought she was, kicking the body off the blade and watching as the villain slumped to the ground. Daryl scrambled back onto his feet and flanked her, taking in the camp: the other man was crumpled in a heap at the base of their tree.

They heard the last breaths rattle out of Joe, trickling into the dirt and detritus. No parting shot or quips. Only when the body went quiet did they turn to look at each other. Beth was spattered in blood. Daryl fancied he could even see it clinging to her pale eyelashes. She was shaking now, and her knife dropped with a heavy thud against the leafy ground.

“I-“ She broke off, staring at the corpses, “I killed them.”

Daryl wanted to touch her, do something to make her feel better, but couldn’t bring himself to.

“Ya did what ya had to do.” She didn’t look convinced and he managed to rouse himself into grasping her elbow. She started, looked down at his hand on her and then back to his face.

“I owe ya one. I’m proud of ya.” The faintest trace of a smile appeared on her face at this.

There was a snap of a twig somewhere in the distance and they both tensed. There was movement in the trees, but it was slow and careless.

“Walkers.” She whispered.

“Time to go.” Daryl handed her his bow as he hauled the bag and the rest of the cooked meat up. They set off jogging, their feet shuffling softly through the fallen leaves.


	6. Chapter 6

Beth had always been a runner. She had run track since the sixth grade. Had a fair number of ribbons and trophies to her name, too. She had been proud of that. Maggie had been the brave, outgoing one, but she could run. Beth had never imagined, though, that she would ever have such a practical application for it.

She and Daryl had been jogging for around two hours now, she thought. Despite her runner’s legs, she was starting to suffer. If she’d known what they were running toward, it would have made it easier somehow. As it was, she felt as though Daryl might just be running away from her and she was forever playing catch-up.

Beth was starting to feel pretty lightheaded, and her back was killing her from where she’d landed heavily on something when that thug had wrestled her to the ground. She was trying not to think too much about it, about how east it had been to slide the knife into living men.

Beth registered the heaviness of her clothes, weighted down in sweat. Her boot, getting too loose now from over-wear, caught on something and she felt a muscle tear across her side. The cry was out of her mouth before she even registered she had opened it.

The pain blinded her temporarily and the next thing she knew she was staring up at Daryl’s worried face, haloed by the sun through the branches above.

“Ya okay?” He asked as he offered a hand to help her off of the ground. He pulled hard and before she was really ready.

“Yeah, I’m-” Beth was cut off by her own sharp shriek, the lower half of her ribcage aflame with pain. She could hear his mantra of “sorry, sorry” even through the haze – silly man. He always blamed himself, she thought, distantly.

Daryl dropped his bags and pulled her sweater off of her shoulders. Beth didn’t even have time to be embarrassed, as he lifted her shirt up, before he was cursing under his breath. She pushed herself up.

“Oh my God!” She said. Her lower left side was a bloody a mess. It was only then that she noticed that what she had thought was sweat soaking through her pants was in fact blood, hardly discernably through all the dirt.

“How did I not feel that? I should be able to. I swear, I didn’t feel that.” Beth was babbling.

“That’s the shock talkin’. Did he get ya?” Beth blinked at him slowly, not comprehending. She felt as though her brain had suddenly slowed and everything was coming at her at half-speed. Daryl gripped the side of her face.

“Did he get ya with the knife?” Beth tried to shake the cobwebs out of her head, but the lights were so bright now.

“No. I mean, I don’t think so. We mighta hit a rock but…” Beth shuddered. How was she so dang cold after that run? Daryl looked pensive, a sight she would have found worrying if she’d been in her right mind. He took in their surroundings, and obviously didn’t like what he saw.

“We gotta keep moving, can’t stop here. Do you think ya can walk?” He asked, in as kindly a voice as he could manage. Beth half wanted to ask him to carry her again.

“I think so.” Beth heard her voice slur. What the hell was happening to her? This was like the moonshine, but not half as fun. Daryl hitched his arm under her pits and eased her to her feet.

“We’ll take it nice and easy. I saw signs of a river back a ways, maybe we can catch up with it again, alright?” She nodded as he half dragged her along. Her chest felt tight at the sweetness of his worry, but she couldn’t find the words to acknowledge it, not without embarrassing him.

They walked for what seemed like days. Beth’s feet hardly seemed to touch the ground, just scrape over them. Her head lolled as they went. She knew she should feel bad for making Daryl support her weight, but she couldn’t seem to do anything about it. And at some point she realised that Daryl was talking to her, though she couldn’t hear the words. Only his gruff yet comforting tones seemed to seep through the fog. She smiled into his shoulder.

As the shadows stretched long over the landscape, Beth found herself sat on a riverbank, the mud seeping, not unpleasantly, into her clothes. Daryl was fussing over her, lifting her shirt clean off of her head, leaving her in her flimsy tank and bra. She giggled stupidly, and Daryl quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Always thought if you saw me in my smalls, we’d be having a better time than this.” Her voice was high and thin with giddiness. Daryl’s face went red and he cleared his throat loudly before he laid a wet cloth over the wound.

Pain lanced through the cloud and she hissed through her teeth. Daryl apologised as he swept the material back and forth, ignoring her cries with his jaw locked tight. Finally he was satisfied and laid the rag aside and inspected the wound, his face no more than inches away from her bare skin.

“How does it look?” Beth managed to ask.

“Not so bad. I think ya landed on that knife of yours.” He told her. Beth’s face flamed with embarrassment.

“Great. That’s just great,” Her hands clenched by her sides, “Good going, Greene.”

“Not ya fault.” Daryl told her, wiping his hands on his jeans, before reaching for the bandages: strips taken from the bottom of their blanket. He wished he still had his baggie of Merle’s drugs, but he was doing the best he could with what they had.

Beth blinked back the tears that she didn’t realise had been forming. She tried and she tried, and still she was going to be the girl: the dead one walking. Daryl patted her shoulder awkwardly and told her to sleep. She tried to protest but found that sleep was already pushing in on the sides of her vision. It was easier to let go.

 

When she woke, there was a small fire going out in the darkness and Daryl’s hunched form was beside her, crossbow at the ready.

“Hey.”  
“Hey yerself,” Daryl smiled at her and she felt her spirits lift a little. She was feeling more her usual self now, though her side was aching like the dickens. She managed to pull herself up to a sitting position. He poised himself to help but let her try it for herself first.

Daryl offered her some of the left over meat from the morning, reheated in the embers. She fell upon them greedily, hoping that he’d helped himself to some, too. She was starving but after the first few bites she slowed. She was sick of charred meat. She must have been looking a little thoughtful because Daryl interrupted.

“What’re ya thinking?”

“That I wish we still had some peanut butter.” Beth admitted somewhat abashedly. Daryl responded with a curt laugh.

“Or pigs feet,” Daryl went back to staring at the curls of smoke.

“I wish we could have stayed there.” She said.

Daryl traced some pattern into the dirt between his feet and the moment seemed to pass. Beth had been about to try and strike up another conversation when he finally spoke, in a voice smaller than normal.

“Me too, Beth.” He looked up at her, much like he had in the kitchen only a few nights ago, “Me too.” The words died right there in her throat. She settled for smiling at him shyly.

“You should get some sleep,” Beth told him,  “I can keep watch.”

“Really?” He asked. She nodded and he responded with a poke to her ribs, looking guilty when she yelped.

“Okay, point taken. But you still need to sleep.” Daryl considered how tired he was and weighed up the risks. Without Joe and his guys, they only had walkers to worry about, and they hadn’t seen any in a while. They were sheltered from view by the deep bank behind them and the running water.

“Okay, I’ll sleep. We should be okay without a watch for a few hours.”

“Good.”

“That means ya gotta sleep, too. We need to keep moving tomorrow.”

“Gotcha.” She said, as she laid back down, her back and ribs protesting. She patted the ground beside her and he huffed and laid back. The night was warmer than the last and the remains of the blanket was spread beneath them.

As it was, Beth was awake far longer than Daryl. She’d like to have said it was because she was too attuned to the body heat that was radiating off of Daryl, not more than a foot away.

The truth was that she couldn’t quite shift into a comfortable position. She didn’t even need to touch the wound on her side to be feel how badly it was swelling up, all along her back. So she lay there, watching over Daryl, the sounds of the stream carrying her hopes and fears far away.

 


	7. Chapter 7

On the dawn of the third day, Beth lost the use of her legs.

Daryl had been sleeping, only an inch or so from consciousness when he woke to Beth’s panicked whimpering. His heart was in his mouth as he came to, already scrabbling towards her makeshift bed. The mud of the riverbank soaked into his knees.

“Daryl! Daryl!” Her voice was pitching higher with every pant, even as she remembered not to get too loud, “I can’t feel my legs!” Beth’s hand desperately fluttered around for one of his. In the pre-dawn gloom, Daryl could see the whites of her eyes glowing. He stilled the bony hand between his own as he tried to calm her. Her eyes finally locked onto his, her chest heaving with exertion.

“Daryl, I can’t feel my legs!” It didn’t matter how many times she said it, the words seemed to just bounce uselessly around in Daryl’s skull.

“Can ya move ‘em? He spoke as though on autopilot.

“I don’t know! Are they moving, Daryl?” He looked down where he could just see the tips of her socks peeking out from the covers, resolutely still, “Are they moving?”

“No.” Daryl heard his own voice whisper out of him without his consent.  He was telling himself as much as he was telling her. He could hear Beth’ breath catching in her throat, her eyes rolling around in terror.

He was stricken by the memory of a doe he’d taken down when they’d been back at the prison: he’d hit her from about 60 yards off. When he’d gotten to it, the thing’s eyes had been darting around madly, fear written all over its face, even as the rest of its body lay dead. Daryl tried to shake it off: this was Beth, not some animal.

“It’ll be okay-“ He murmured, sounding stupid even to his ears.

“No, no it won’t!” She was crying now and Daryl had no idea what to say to her, no possible idea for how to make this seem any less terrible than it was.

“Maybe it won’t last…” They could both hear the question in his statement – neither of them knew enough about this sort of thing. Her eyes and breathing got a little steadier as she squeezed his hand.

“You know what we need to do,” Her gaze was steadfast on his, willing him to understand, “Daryl, I can’t live like this. I’m sorry-”

“Whoa! No way, no way, we’re not even gonna talk about-“

“Please, Daryl!”

“No, goddamnit!” The force of his reply cowed her into silence, at last. He freed one hand from hers, sinking his head into it. How could this be happening, hadn’t enough shitty things happened to them? Now this.

“Daryl,” She tried again, her voice level and almost eerily calm now, all the harder to interrupt, “I can’t live in this world like this. You know that. I can’t be a burden to you.”

“Y’ain’t. Ya could never be.”

“That’s sweet. But it ain’t true, y’know.”

“No. No we’re not doing anything.”

“Daryl-“

“Not yet, girl.” His voice came out stern and harsh. The way he had spoken to her back when he had seen her as surplus, back in the prison. Back when she was “just another dead girl”.  His throat closed up at the thought, and he rocked back on his heels to sit on the wet ground. When he spoke again, his voice came out thick and heavy.

“I promise ya, if the time comes…” Daryl couldn’t even finish the sentence but the tilt of her head let him know she understood, “But fer now: ya promise me you’ try. Try to survive. For me.” Her eyelids flickered downwards, the lashes sticky with tears or sleep or both.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed, “try an’ get a little more sleep. I’m gonna start packin’ things up.” She nodded at him, looking frail and pale in the dark. Daryl dropped her hand and moved away.

He tried to stuff their meagre things back into the pack but his hands were shaking so badly he dropped the bolts for his bow and spent the next few minutes chasing after them and cleaning them off. Even as Beth’s breathing quietened and deepened behind him, he could hear his own becoming ragged.

With a quick glance over his shoulder, where she appeared to be dozing again, he slipped over the bank and into the treeline, beyond her line of sight, before he collapsed to his knees. 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Beth knew she was dreaming, even in this dreaming state. She was in that old claw-foot bathtub at the farm. The one in the bathroom right next to the kitchen. She had always moaned about the weird placement, when she was young, but Daddy explained that the thing was so darn heavy, it would have crashed right through the floor if they put it anywhere else!

She stretched out in the water. The bubbles tickled at her nose. The smell of honey, too. When was the last time she’d smelt that? Her toenails just broke the surface at the other end of the tub. Painted ice blue. Beth rolled her neck around. This was just what the doctor ordered.  There was only thing missing, she thought with a sly smile. And just like that, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in!” She twisted so she could see her visitor, though she already knew who it would be: if she were dreaming. And sure enough, there he was, in all his leather and denim coated glory. She couldn’t supress a giggle, though she tried to drown it in the suds. Daryl’s face remained as surly as ever. Some things even dreams couldn’t change.

“What are ya doin’?” He asked.

“Taking a well deserved bath, is what.” She laughed at him, but he remained unmoved, even as he went to perch on the rim of the tub. He stared down at her seriously. She reached for his hand, curled her long fingers around his, like she had done a half dozen times now. Like a habit.

“You wanna join me, huh?” Beth could hardly believe the words coming out of her mouth, even if she knew they bore no consequence. The words slipped off of Daryl’s face like water over a goose.  He blinked at her morosely.

“Time to get out, Beth.” He told her, reaching one hand to help her out, but she recoiled. No. She was safe here. He persisted, one hand hovering over her breasts in the water.

“Ya gotta wake up, Beth.”

“What?”

“You promised ya’d fight.”

“But it’s so warm. Are you sure you won’t join me?” She tried to laugh the comment off, flicked her hair at him coquettishly.

“Look at the water, Beth.” She sighed at him before making a great show of looking back at the water.

It was grey now, the bubbles gone. Shapes swirled aimlessly on top of the dirty water. Her toes were still peeking out from the surface of the water, but Beth realised that the toenails weren’t painted blue: her feet had gone blue on the whole. Numb. Beth tried to scrabble, her hands skidding off the enamel sides of the bath. And then she was slipping under the surface, flailing and reaching. For Daryl, whose face she could see looming above, impassive.

The water was ice cold.

Beth sucked in a lungful of cold air, blinking the dew off of her lashes. Her heart was pounding. She hadn’t had nightmares like that since the farm fell. Her hands were fisted tightly into the blanket, which Daryl must have thrown over her at some point. There was a blissful moment where she wondered where she was and couldn’t remember what was happening, who she was with.

Then it all came back. She tried to prop herself up on her arms, so she could see the terrible stillness of her feet. It was still there, as much as she wanted it to be otherwise. She tried to flex them. Tried to remember exactly which muscles made certain toes move. Nothing. The tears started to well up, but no, not now. Don’t let Daryl see.

Thinking of Daryl, she looked around for him. The bag was packed and ready to go, only a foot or so away. But no Daryl. The stream was rushing away, as though there had been rains upstream. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Beth’s heart rate started to pick up again, the definitive thud-thud, thud-thud of her heartbeat bouncing off her ribcage.

Beth lowered herself back to the damp ground. She knew he couldn’t have left her. Really, she did. But she had to wonder where he was. Why he was wherever he was _now_ of all times. She turned to look at the pack. She could almost reach it. She stretched her arm out. Almost seemed to be the operative word: she fell short by half a foot, the mud wrapping around her elbow. It was going to be a bitch to get the dirt out of the blanket and clothes, she thought, weirdly.

There was a crunch from somewhere above and behind her, up above the riverbank. Beth stilled in her attempts to wiggle closer to the bag. Please, she thought, let it be Daryl. Crunch. Her hand clawed through the mud. Nearly there, nearly. Crunch. The mud pushed up against her nail beds. The pocket of the bag was nearly in reach. Crunch. The sound of heavy footfalls landing behind her. Terror seized her and propelled her the last few inches, her hand closing easily around the knife before she brought it back round to… Daryl.

The breath whooshed out of her, catching at the end. Before she could tell him off, though, she was crying. Crying like fool. She tried to choke out an apology in between the hiccups and sobs, but Daryl just laid a hand on her shoulder, and let her ride it out. So much for not crying any more, Beth Greene.

Daryl pulled her off of the blanket, cradling her upper body in his arms. Her tears drying in the leather of his vest. She cried for her legs. She cried for poor Daddy, poor Hershel Greene. She cried for herself and she cried for Daryl Dixon who was doomed to be the last man standing.


	9. Chapter 9

Daryl held her, hunched over her little form awkwardly, held her until she stilled. Once her choked sobs had subsided into sniffles, Daryl clapped her on the back and felt her wince slightly. He chided himself. Couldn’t do anything right.

“C’mon. We gotta get moving.” He said, gathering the bag to him and slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. Beth looked at him as she worried her lip, as though she were afraid to ask.

“How am I gonna-“ Daryl cut her off with a glare.

“I’m gonna carry ya.” He said, in a tone that brooked no discussion. He picked the ends of the blanket up and folded it over her legs, cocooning her, effectively. He brought her a last drink of water from which she drank it down appreciatively, ignoring the river silt sliding down her throat.

“Ya ready?” Daryl asked. Beth just nodded, not seeming to trust herself to speak. Daryl slipped an arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders. He grunted as he stood. The tears threatened to come back. Daryl saw and she smiled at him.

“Hey, at least I’m getting lighter, huh?” She said. An amused “hmph” was his reply. He set off at a determined pace, his feet sinking into the mud.

“So where are we going?”

“We crossed some railway tracks yesterday, a little way back.” He said. Beth must have heard the strain in his voice because she was uncharacteristically quiet for a long time after that, as they made their way back into the woods.

All that quiet left far too much time for contemplation. It was funny, Daryl thought, how the days could pass so damn slowly and yet so damn fast all at the same time. His arms and back were killing him from carrying Beth. It wasn’t her weight that was the problem; it was the way he was carrying her. Bridal style. The phrase made his stomach twinge. It took almost as much energy just to keep the effort off of his face. He knew Beth was watching him, looking for a reason to convince him to leave her behind. That wasn’t happening.

They’d been following the railway tracks for a few miles now. Their progress was slow but at least they hadn’t run into any walkers lately. As though the universe could hear him, there was a moan and snarl from somewhere up ahead, around the bend. Beth stiffened up in his arms. He was reluctant to put her down until he saw what they were getting into, but he also didn’t want to have to drop her on her ass if he needed his hands. He saw Beth clutch at that same bowie knife he’d given her a few days ago. Hell, Daryl thought, he could just about admit to himself that he didn’t want to put Beth down, period. Even if his back was being shot all to hell.

Daryl crept forward, walking on the far side of the bend. What a sight they must make, Daryl thought: meals on wheels. The gnashing of teeth picked up in frenzy, but the sound got no closer. Disconcerting. He had come to expect certain behaviour from walkers now. Daryl caught sight of something past the low hanging branches, a glimpse of grey flesh on the ground.

Daryl and Beth pushed through the foliage to see the prone walker splayed along the railway tracks, his hands dragging bloody stumps of fingers back and forth through the gravelly ground, brown with gore. His legs were still behind him, bent unnaturally. As though there could be anything natural about walkers.

Daryl bent at the waist and lowered Beth to the ground as softly as he could, a good ten feet from the biter. She still let out a girlish “oof” as she made contact. Daryl pulled the spare knife from his belt and made his way to the creature. There was something about the whole image that unsettled him. He cast his eye over the surrounding ground. Tracks. And odder still: a shoebox. Daryl could see the walker’s skull was missing on one side. A miracle (or cruelty) it had survived this long. Daryl’s blade flashed for a moment in the dappled sunlight and silence fell back over this little area of woodland. Daryl wiped the blade off on the fallen leaves as he scowled at the dirt.

“What is it?” Beth’s voice made Daryl jump. He’d half forgotten she was here. Her gentle, shuffling footsteps were usually what kept him grounded. He wondered if he would here them again. He shook the thought off.

“Weird tracks.”

“Weird how?”

“Weird like, why was someone standing so close? And why not put it out of its misery?

“You’re right. That is a little weird. Maybe they were afraid.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Daryl mused, but he wasn’t convinced. He tucked the knife back and headed to Beth, She didn’t protest this time, but he didn’t miss the sadness in her eyes. He wanted them to get off the road soon, give her a chance to rest up. Maybe heal. Just maybe.

It was as though his prayers were answered, just a few steps down the tracks they saw broken branches and tracks. They pushed on, through the thickening vegetation. Daryl was about ready to give up, as the branches scratched at his eyes and tangled into Beth’s braids but as soon as the thought occurred to him: they were through. 

There was a clearing before them, a field bordered with a barbed wire fence. And beyond that, a little house. Maybe a farm. Daryl heard Beth’s breath catch, Felt his own heart stutter a moment. They were out of the woods.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Beth couldn’t believe their good luck, as she lay cocooned on a worn sofa in a window seat. Daryl had started a small fire in the hearth. Out of the huge windows she could see the last of the light receding through the branches of the pecan trees. Pecans! Beth almost giggled at the thought of them. She could smell the ones that Daryl was toasting now. There had been a pile left on the kitchen table, he told her.

Beth knew that Daryl was afraid, though he’d never admit it. Déjà vu and all that. An apparently perfect little house, secure and well stocked. What did that sound like? Beth liked to think that God was taking a do-over. Needed to think that, really. Daryl had already strung up the can alarms again, and barricaded the doors.

Daryl scooted over from his guard at the fire, toasted pecans cradled in the front of his plaid shirt. She smiled at him through the haze of exhaustion and happiness. He looked so pleased with himself it was hard not to feel joy, even despite her own situation.

Beth was trying not to dwell on her legs, she really was: she would get better, or she wouldn’t. She had to have faith. She thought back to Daddy on that bed they had been sure would be his deathbed. If he could bounce back, then so could she.

“Thank you,” She smiled as she took a still steaming pecan from Daryl’s shy hand. He was watching her, waiting for her verdict, so she threw it into her mouth. It was too hot, crumbling almost instantly, but the taste was wonderful. Her childhood pecan pies flashed through her mind’s eye. She let out a squeak of pleasure and nodded her head in approval – he ducked his with a bashful smile.

How Daryl could be bashful, Beth didn’t know. He had found her a safe hiding place, in the remains of a lightning struck pecan tree, at the edge of the grove, while he had scouted ahead. There were a bunch of walkers to deal with. Whoever had been there last – Beth didn’t think it was the original family – had left the fence open. Daryl wouldn’t be drawn on how many he had had to deal with, but he was dirtier than ever when he came to pull her out of the burnt timber.

Now they were safe, it seemed. With a fireplace and books and good eating But it wasn’t all good things here. Daryl had tried to hide it from her, as he carried her the home stretch, but she had seen the graves out front. The tiny shoes. The fresh dirt. The open gate itself spoke of something terrible, though she wasn’t sure of what yet. The house had been left messy, as though left in a hurry, but not without care. The kettle was still half full of water, only just turning stale.

Daryl’s crunching beside her, brought her back to the present. His back was radiating heat against her arm, where he was leant against the couch. He was facing the door.

Daryl tipped his head every so often to look at her thoughtfully. Her breath hitched slightly, that “oh” at the funeral home back on her tongue. She decided to be brave. She dropped her hand, pecan free, gently onto his head. He stiffened almost comically, reminding her of one of the Looney Tunes, before he relaxed. She stroked his hair, feeling nervous and excited all at once.

“Is this alright?” She said, as a whisper. He turned to look at her again, brow furrowed. He nodded against her hand.

“Mmhmm.” Beth smiled and tugged on a bit of his hair, eliciting a small crack of a smile. He handed her another pecan, which she happily popped in her mouth. She wondered if she should be flirting more overtly, but decided against it. Right now, they were both happy. Who could have imagined, after this morning? They fell asleep this way, the crumbs of their small meal still strewn over their laps.

 

**AN: Thank you to all my commenters! We are now just two chapters away from the end! Sorry this one is a little short, but there will be another chapter up in about twelve hours!**


	11. Chapter 11

On the fourth day, Daryl awoke with a lurch, the sun in his eyes and the smell of last night’s dinner in his nose. He couldn’t remember where he was. It was only when he turned and saw Beth, lit up like an angel in the morning light that everything came back to him. She looked lovely in the light, Daryl thought. She didn’t look much younger, thank God, but she looked calm. Like she might have looked had none of this never happened. He shook the thought off. No use in wishful thinking.

He stood and stretched his back out, the cracks and pops signifying the beginning of the day. He decided to leave Beth in peace a while. Lord knew she needed all the rest she could get. He wondered if she might be better today. Was afraid to find out.

Daryl walked to the front door, picking up his bow from where he had left it, by the hearth. The door opened up onto a cold morning, the air stung his lungs in the good way. The mist still hung between the trees, distorting the already watery light. He wondered what month it was now. The group at the prison had tried to keep track, but time had slipped through their fingers. He would wager they were deep in fall now. October, maybe?

He stalked between the pecan trees, scooping up the fallen nuts as he went. He’d have to find a rock to crush them when he was done. It took him about an hour to reach the forested end of the land, away from the railway line. He hadn’t run into any more walkers, which was reassuring. He only had to wait another quarter of an hour or so before a buck burst out of the treeline. It hit the ground before it had taken more than four steps. Daryl smiled. The first time he’d felt normal in days.

The walk back to the house took longer, weighed down by the deer and rock he picked up along the way. He walked the line of the fence, putting down a couple of stray walkers caught on the wire.

Daryl left the stag in the garden, away from the graves, which gave him chills. Two of them were too fresh for comfort. What had happened here? He felt as though the answer were somewhere just out of reach. He tried to let it go and headed back into the house, announcing himself so as not to scare Beth.

She was awake and smiling at him, propped up on the couch, thin hands spread wide over the blanket over her lap. The pronounced bones reminded him how much she needed fattening up. She was still a little pale, but Daryl reckoned there was a little more colour in her face than there had been the day before.

“Mornin’, Daryl.”

“Mornin’.” He replied, studying her. He was thinking about last night. About her touching him. Only his head, mind, but still. He almost didn’t notice that she was sitting upright. She giggled her small, distinctive laugh when she noticed his double take.

“Yep, feelin’ a little better today.”

“Can ya-“ Daryl waved his hand toward her legs. Beth pulled a face at him.

“Not yet. But I can kinda feel something. Sorta like pins and needles.”

“That’s good,” he smiled at her in spite of himself and she returned it, as she always did, “that’s really good.”

“Well, I’ll take what I can get.” He nodded, brought his hand up to chew at his thumbnail but stopped short when he noticed her frown at the action. He dropped his hand heavily and looked around the room, suddenly uncomfortable with the intimacy of the room. He turned back in time to see her shift with discomfort.

“Ya alright?” He asked as his feet took him to her side, without thinking.

“Yeah, I think so, my side is still pretty sore, though. I better wash it out again today.”

“I’ll get ya the stuff you need, get ya some breakfast, too. You stay there.” She smiled at him.

“Not like I got a choice, Daryl.” He felt his cheeks heat up at his stupidity and then get hotter still when she patted his hand with hers; reassuring him that maybe she didn’t think he was such a dumbass.

Daryl went about making himself useful. Even managed to get Beth some hot water from the old gas stove. What a find that was, Daryl thought. If they could find some more gas somewhere they could use this stove for months, even years. He flinched with that thought. He shouldn’t let himself get too comfortable. Wasn’t like they could really stay here, could they? But even in spite of his dismissal, an image hung there in his mind: Beth wandering between the pecan trees in denim shorts and cowboy boots, basket in hand and sunhat on. She turned to smile and laugh at him, the light filtering through her hair.  Daryl’s stomach clenched at the vision for some reason. No, he told himself. She might not even walk again, let alone want to spend her time with him.

He tried to refocus, as he crushed the pecan shells. He wondered, as he looked at the baking tray, still covered in crumbs, why the last tenants had gotten out of there in such a hurry. He supposed it was their loss. He tried to push away the memory of the funeral home. He would do things right this time.

After he had a sizeable mound of pecans, he took a handful to Beth and told her he was going to scout the perimeter. He needed to get back out there. Make himself useful. Her mouth pressed into that line that said she wasn’t real happy about him going out on her own, but she didn’t have any other solution.

The barbed fence was stronger than it looked, driven deep into the ground. It wasn’t to say that it couldn’t fall, if enough walkers came through, but it should hold against anything short of a herd. The only real weak spot was the opening, but that was visible from the house. He only found the one walker stuck on the fence, putting it out of its misery with ease.

Back at the house, he found Beth staring at her toes with her jaw set in determination. He could almost see the damn thought bubble over her head. She looked flustered when she realised she’d been caught and he laughed.

“Ya cute when you blush, Greene.” It slipped out of his mouth before he even realised what he was saying and she went even redder. It was nice not to be the only embarrassed one. He told her he was going to skin and dress his catch from earlier. She enthused over his prowess and, as always, he shrugged it off with a mumble. She let it slide this time.

The day passed in errands. The first day like this since the funeral home. Perhaps not even since the prison. An almost normal day.

 


	12. Chapter 12

It was on the eighth day that Beth finally got the use of her legs back. She woke up on the double bed that Daryl had insisted she take. She was slow to stir. The comfort of a safe house and her paralysis had killed most of her motivation.

It had been a four days of real awkwardness, that was for sure. There wasn’t much you could do without your legs. Couldn’t bathe, couldn’t help out, couldn’t even go to the bathroom by yourself. Despite Beth’s eagerness to try dragging herself off to the shrubbery commando style, Daryl had had to help her. Beth’s mind blanked over in red-hot embarrassment. No, she wasn’t going to be dwelling on that, she told herself. You gotta do what you gotta do.

The first thing Beth noticed this morning was the rain running in sheets down the windowpanes. She could feel the chill radiating into the room. As she blinked her eyes into focus and propped herself up, she did what was by now her usual check: trying to wiggle her toes and flex her calves. The first few days there had been real progress – the odd twinge and pins and needles - but yesterday she had plateaued. She could just about twitch her legs but not lift them, but that was it.

This morning, however, when she flexed her foot the whole thing curled weakly. Beth gaped as she watched her calf muscle tense in tandem. Beth scrambled to push the blanket off of herself, hardly daring to believe. As she sat up, gazing at her legs she fought back tears as her toes moved. But no, she was done with crying.

“Daryl! Daryl!” Beth called out. Her initial reaction was to share her joy. Daryl came lumbering down the hallway, crossbow in hand and sleep still in his eyes.

“What’sa matter?” He scanned the room, squinting into the grey light of the window behind her, looking for danger.

“My legs!” Beth could hear the giddiness in her own voice. Daryl looked down at her wiggling toes. He lowered himself to his knees beside her, crossbow landing with a soft “thunk”. He raised his hand as though to touch her ankle but hesitated, looking to her for permission. She just nodded, near imperceptibly.

Daryl’s hot hand wrapped around the joint and then she really did nearly start crying. He looked a little startled at her gasp and she apologised.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I can feel you, Daryl!” He smiled shyly at her, obviously pleased, from under the long fringe of hair. She reached for his other hand and squeezed it, even as she mentally made a note to cut his hair soon. If he’d let her, that was.

Beth started to try shuffling out of the bed, stopped by Daryl moving his hands to her shoulders.

“Whoa, whoa, take it easy, alright?” Beth tried to glower but she knew he was just looking out for her.

“Okay.” She paused for just a moment, humouring him, before she shuffled so she was sat in front of him. He gave a sigh.

“Help me up.” Beth bossed. He complied pulling her up to her feet, hands under her armpits. The rush of standing made her giggle maniacally. Daryl looked a little alarmed.

It was such a rush, standing back at five feet and six inches. She felt taller, could she be taller, Beth wondered. Her head was spinning a little and her legs were shaking. She toppled forward into Daryl, hands catching in his shirt.

“Whoa!” Beth repeated back to him, unwittingly, “Got a little unbalanced there.” Daryl’s hands moved to grip her hips. She looked up into his face: his kind, sweet face. How had she ever thought of it as anything but? She wanted to kiss him. The thought bloomed in her head with sudden clarity, a clarity that told her that she had wanted to kiss him for a while now. It was like a light bulb going off over her head: Beth Greene wanted to kiss Daryl Dixon. And she nearly did, but then Daryl was shifting her weight so it was back over her own feet and she was jolted back to the real world.

“Steady on, Bambi.” Beth nodded, numbly. She couldn’t help but feel a little stung, though. She couldn’t tell if the statement was double-edged. Had Daryl known she was thinking? Was this a rejection? Did he not want to kiss her? She felt like she was losing her mind with this middle school crap. She willed herself to ask him straight out, but he was looking at her with that guarded expression and she lost the nerve.

“Feel up to walking to breakfast?” Daryl asked. Beth just nodded, forcing her hands to unlock from where they had slid down to his biceps. She took small, unsteady steps towards the kitchen, with Daryl’s hands ready to steady her all the while.

By the time Beth finally collapsed into a kitchen chair, she was faint and out of breath. Daryl watching her like a hawk. He’d tried to sweep her up a few times on the 25-foot walk, but she was having none of it. She was done with being carried now.

A breakfast of cold pecans was dropped in front of her, which she thanked Daryl for profusely. She hadn’t gotten sick of them yet, couldn’t imagine she ever would. She eyed the stove that Daryl had told her about. She’d have to figure out what she could cook in that thing, make herself useful.

Daryl stood in the doorway, alternating between watching for walkers and watching her. She chewed her lip. She couldn’t believe it was raining now. The first time the weather had turned. Typical, even if she didn’t have the strength to wander far yet. The rain was coming down with enough force to bounce right back off of the ground it hit.

She hadn’t realised she was humming until Daryl interrupted her staring into space.

“Whatcha’ singin’?” Beth blushed. She cocked her head as she tried to remember what her tune of the day was. She nearly always woke up with some song in her head. Ear worms. That’s what her Mama had called them.

“’Home Again’ – by Carole King,” she turned back out to the weather outside, “it’s so weird that I’ll probably never hear it again – on the radio or anything.” Beth heard Daryl moving around and heard him sit down heavily in the seat beside her, crossbow leant against the chair leg. He looked at her thoughtfully. She thought the moment had passed when he spoke again.

“Why dontcha sing it?” The missing ‘for me’ hung in the air heavily. Beth contemplated giving him a hard time about his request. She still owed him for his comments back at the moonshiners’ cabin. She decided to be the better man. Woman. Whatever.

She reached her hand out and picked up the rhythm with gentle, even taps against the table surface. Her voice sounded rough around the edges to her ears, and she felt as though she was struggling to find the balance between her natural voice and trying too hard. But then Daryl started looking at her in a way that made her stop worrying.

_“Sometimes I wonder_

_If I'm ever gonna make it home again._

_It's so far and out of sight._

_I really need someone to talk to_

_And nobody else_

_Knows how to comfort me tonight…”_


	13. Chapter 13

Daryl was entranced. Like a rabbit looking down the sight of the crossbow, completely lost. There was an almost otherworldly effect happening as Beth beat a rhythm to her song on the table: the rain lashing and trees thrashing provided an eerie accompaniment.  The hairs on his neck stood on end.

Beth’s head was ducked shyly but her voice was completely at odds with the image. Beth had always had a sweet voice but there was something different today. Maybe it was through lack of use or maybe it was the recent trauma, but whatever it was, she sang like an old time soul singer, throaty and musical and, Daryl’s throat tightened at the realisation, sexy. 

Daryl was gripping the edge of the table, hoping Beth couldn’t see the bloodlessness of his knuckles. As if on cue, Beth tipped her head up, electric eyes locking onto his, pinning him place. When she closed them again he almost heaved a sigh of relief and tried to lose himself in the song. Wasn’t hard to see why she’d been thinking of it.

_“Snow is cold, rain is wet,_

_Chills my soul right to the marrow._

_I won't be happy till I see you alone again,_

_‘Til I'm home again and feeling right.”_

Beth locked eyes on him again and smiled in her soft way. It had always made him feel like smiling back – something that couldn’t be said of most – but recently it seemed to make his stomach flop about like a fish.

_“Snow is cold, rain is wet,_

_Chills my soul right to the marrow._

_I won't be happy till I see you alone again_

_Till I'm home again and feeling right.”_

Beth’s cheeks were rosy and Daryl was cussing himself out even as he leant into the music as she reached the final crescendo, losing herself entirely, eyes shut, head swaying and her hair tumbling over her shoulder. She took a deep breath before going into the last belt. Her eyes flickered open again and he suddenly felt that she was singing not just for him, but to him.

_“Till I'm home again and feeling right._

_I wanna be home again and feeling right.”_

Daryl couldn’t help himself. There was a note of need in her final lines that pulled on something primal in him. He reached across the table and gripped her hand in his. Beth looked a little surprised but she didn’t pull away. He wasn’t sure what he’d have done if she did. She tilted her head at him, as though asking him a question and squeezed his hand back. Her face was open and honest, just as it had always been: he just hadn’t been paying attention.

Beth’s level gaze flicked back and forth between his eyes and then she was leaning towards him, her eyes fluttering close and her mouth was pressed against his. Daryl knew he ought to fight it but she was there and warm and he was tired of fighting, tired of worrying about the right thing. He leant into, deepening the kiss, leaving chaste in the dust.

One hand found her long hair, wrapping it around his fingers and tilted her head back further. She made a mewling noise that went straight to his groin, her fingers twisting into the front of his shirt as she tried to pull him closer. Daryl used his other hand to grip her hip, dragging both her and her chair over to him with a screech of wood against stone.

Beth was the one to shock him, again, when she bit his lower lip, demanding access. He opened up; helpless against this waif of a farm girl who had him wrapped around her little finger.

There was a clap of lightning and they broke apart, both of their chests heaving. Beth’s face was glorious and Daryl felt a surge of primal possessive pride.

“Mine.” He growled.

“Oh thank God.” Beth replied.


	14. Chapter 14

The day had taken a turn for the better in the end, in a number of ways. Beth watched some chipmunks skittering around out in the grove in the golden light. Georgia was beautiful. She had always thought so, but she hadn’t really been thinking that lately. But here, with her head rising and falling with each breath that Daryl took, she was suddenly reminded of all the beauty there still was.

Beth turned her head to look at Daryl who, as always, was looking at her. She smiled at him, slowly and shyly. They’d gotten a little carried away after breakfast, it would seem. Daryl’s chair had broken from right underneath them when they’d been necking, her still weak legs slung around his hips. Only three chairs left now. They’d be in trouble if they had company. Beth could feel the tug of laughter and smothered it in the plaid of Daryl’s shirt.

The two of them had dozed most of the afternoon away on the worn couch in the window, punctuated only by good old fashioned make out sessions. Beth was dying to take it to the bedroom but it had been Daryl who reminded her that her legs were still only just functional. She had grumbled, but he’d made up for it. Daryl was tracing shapes on her back and she could feel the pull of sleep again.

It was funny how something so small a thing – in the grand scheme– such as finally breaking down their walls could make. Beth felt that the weight of the world had been lifted. She could imagine some kind of future now. All from a few kisses from one Daryl Dixon. He must have magic in his lips, Beth thought.

 

Beth could feel Daryl rousing himself, shifting, his muscles losing that bonelessness that made him such a comfy pillow. She raised her head and arched an eyebrow in question.

“What are you up to, Mr Dixon?” Daryl smiled, looking a little embarrassed as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Don’t call me that. Makes me feel like an old pervert,” Beth leant in to peck him on the mouth, “More of an old pervert.” Beth giggled at him and he smiled again. She was going to make it her life’s mission to keep him smiling, she decided as she went in to peck at him again.

“Alright, alright, woman. You gotta let me up.” He said, but not unkindly, as he stood up, rolling Beth back onto the couch. He stretched his back out.

“Fine,” Beth mock pouted, “but where are you going?”

“Out.” Beth raised the other eyebrow at him.

“I gotta check the fences, clear any build-ups.” He told her. He paused. He could tell things had changed. He was just trying to work out how they had changed, in the fundamental ways.

“Is that alright wi’tcha?” He asked, managing to keep his usual sarcasm at bay.

“Of course.” she kept her face pleasant as she bristled with pleasure, she couldn’t remember Daryl ever asking permission or opinion, except maybe from Rick.

“Just be safe, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am. And you just stay there. Rest up.” He gave her a little salute as he picked up the bow and headed out. Beth contemplated dragging herself over to the door and waving him off, but the door seemed an awfully long way away and she didn’t want to scare Daryl off. Lord knew he’d be a nervous one for a while. He never dealt well with new people, new relationships. He’d completely withdrawn into himself for the first week or so after the Woodbury residents joined the prison. Beth had never even seen Daryl show any interest in other women. She’d wondered about his relationship with Carol, but the older woman had always said they were just friends.

Instead she gave herself a little more rest on the couch, reading the beaten up crime novel she had left there the night before. After a particularly grisly chapter – Beth could do with less grisly in her life – she decided to make a beeline for the stove. She wobbled and pulled herself over.

She rummaged through the cabinets that were almost bare apart from the jars and pots filled with pecans. She wasn’t sure if that was Daryl’s doing or those who had come before. She still got a little spooked whenever she wondered what had happened here. She put it out of her mind.

Then Beth hit the jackpot: two half empty pots of sugar and flour! If only she had some butter and eggs. She wondered how Daryl would feel about trying to rustle up then raise livestock. They couldn’t have too many noisy creatures, lest they bring down a herd of walkers, but they could have enough for eggs and milk and butter for two, at least. Beth shook the thought out of her head. Daryl had been cagey about their plans and that was before they got all smoochy with one another. Best not to get your hopes up, she told herself.

Beth settled for crunching the nuts up with the stone Daryl had left on the counter and mixing it with a precious handful of sugar before shaping them into little balls and arranging them on the baking sheet left out. It took her a little while to work out how to turn the oven on but once she did, she slid down to the floor weakly while watching the treats brown through the glass. She remembered doing this with her mother’s baking, her Mama’s long legs stepping over and around her as she carried on bustling.

In the end, Beth couldn’t have planned it better: Daryl walked in the door only moments after she had taken the almost-cookies out of the oven. She heard the stutter in his step before he poked his head round the door. He tipped his head at her in that Daryl way, that meant “hey” or “I missed you”.

Beth wiped her hands on the rag that had once been a tea towel before she reached for him. She felt the stiffness of his shoulders as she slid her hands around his neck. He took a moment to relax, to turn his nose into the side of her neck, she felt his slow exhale as his arms slinging around her. Beth smiled into his shoulder. This was all so new and yet she felt as though they’d been doing this forever.

Eventually they pulled apart and she offered him a sugared pecan ball. He took a couple happily and sat munching at the table as she watched him like a hawk.

“How was it out there?” She asked.

“Fine, quiet actually.”

“Not too many walkers?”

“Nope. Only one, on the west side.” Daryl finished his snack and moved to chewing his thumbnail. Beth frowned at the nervous gesture.

“What is it?”

“I started going further out. Back to the tracks.”

“Oh.” Beth could feel her little vision of cows and chickens crumbling.

“Just wanted to see if I could pick up any tracks, y’know?”

“Oh!” Beth said, smiling. She knew he had faith, deep down, “Did you find any?”

“A couple. Four sets of tracks coming in. A coupla weeks old, maybe.”

“How many going out?”

“Just two.” Beth fingered a knot in the wood of the table.

“I guess that explains those graves, then.”

“Yeah.” He replied, watching her warily. Beth could tell he was still holding something back.

“Do you think they might be some of ours?”

“Maybe. No real way to tell,” Daryl looked at her worrying her way through the wood polish, “there’s something else, though.”

“What is it?”

“There’re some signs. Signs for some kinda sanctuary. Supposedly.” Beth’s ears pricked up and she turned her full attention back to him.

“Really?” She wasn’t sure what to do with this information, wasn’t sure of the significance. What this meant for their family, for her sister, for them.

“They say: “all that arrive, survive.” We heard a message about it, on the radio. Before the prison fell. Called Terminus.”

“What do you think?”

“I think we got a choice to make.” Beth nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat. This is what she had been afraid of. Could she choose finding her sister, Rick, Judith and everyone else over this place, this home that she could make with Daryl? She knew she’d told Daryl that there were still good people out in the world, still believed it. But she also knew you had to take the good things that life gave you. Beth tilted her head as she took in Daryl who still had her locked in sight. Yes, Beth thought, Daryl was definitely one of the good things. Daryl broke the silence.

“What about you?” Beth tried to deflect as her mind kept whirring.

“Am I crazy, or do I not like the sound of “terminus”? Doesn’t that sound like “end of the line to you?” Daryl gave a small snort of laughter.

“Naw. You’re not crazy. I ain’t got a good a feelin’, to be honest wit’ ya. Sounds a little too like Woodbury to me. But maybe it’s not.”

“Same here. But do you think Maggie and Rick and the others might have gone there?”

“I dunno,” Daryl thought a moment, “hope not.”

“Me too. Besides, don’t you think they could find us? If we found this place, why shouldn’t the others?”

Daryl looked at her slightly quizzically. Beth pushed on.

“Maybe we could leave signs of our own?” At Daryl’s look of concern she pushed on, “Not obvious ones. Maybe something only we’d know.”

“That’s a good idea. What would we use?”

“L’il Asskicker?”

“Hmm. Maybe. But the newer ones won’t get that,” Daryl started chewing his lip, unconsciously mirroring Beth, he looked up at her, hesitating, “How about ‘Hershel Greene’?”

Beth’s eyes watered a little, but she nodded with a proud smile. Daryl reached for her hand on the table top.

“Daddy would’ve liked that.” The silence they fell into was comfortable, if loaded. It was Daryl who broke it in the end, obviously wrestling with some internal matter.

“We don’t have to stay here, if ya don’t want to. I know it ain’t a pretty thought, stuck here with me.”

Beth laughed, a watery sound bubbling through her sadness.

“Oh, Daryl. You have no idea how much I want that.” Daryl looked almost comically surprised and Beth laughed again, stroking the side of his face.

“Really?” Daryl pulled his hand away from the contact, “Cos I ain’t no farmer’s boy, like ya used to. Not the kind of man you’d have brought home to ya Daddy. This ain’t exactly a happy ending for ya.” There was a cutting edge to Daryl’s voice as he glanced around the room. Beth knew that tone: the kind he used to try to scare people away, but really only hurt himself. She wondered if he knew that he was his own worst enemy.

Beth kept her face blank as she processed. The light was coming in lowly through the windows now, lighting up Beth’s hair like a torch. But on Daryl the autumnal light seemed to wash the years away. Beth stood up, pulling him with her, ignoring his sullenness.

“Time for dinner, I believe Mr Dixon.” She told him cheerfully. But she made no move for the stove or to push him to retrieve the left over deer meat. She curled a hand around his neck and pulled his hips to hers with the other. She stood on shaking toes to plant a kiss squarely on his mouth.

For a moment it was like kissing a rock, but then he eased and it was Daryl who deepened it, tongue demanding dominance to which she yielded. Her heart skipped a beat at the significance even as she moaned at assault. She knew it: he needed her as much as she needed him.

She was seeing stars behind her eyelids as Daryl dragged her in to fit against the sharp angles of his body and wound his fingers through her hair. His tongue was hot in her mouth and he tasted of sugar and pecans. And then it was over. She could hear their ragged breathing echoing in the kitchen.

Beth didn’t let him go. She held tight, leant her forehead against his, noses bumping. “Eskimo kisses” her sister had called them. And for a shining moment, it was only them in the world and she could see their future. A winter snuggling under one blanket, living off the land, maybe one day seeing their friends again. Wouldn’t the pair surprise everyone, Beth thought sheepishly. The hunter and the farm girl. A match made in fairy tales.

Beth locked eyes with Daryl through her lashes.

“You gotta stop trying to protect me, you hear? I’m not a princess. And don’t underestimate yourself, Daryl Dixon. The way I see it, my Daddy already approved of you.”

Beth moved her hands to either side of his face, making sure she couldn’t escape her. His eyes closed and he leant into the contact.

“Maybe it won’t be perfect. Maybe it won’t last long. But maybe here,” Beth laughed, the image of their little life spread out before her, “we could be ordinary.”

 

**AN: And that, folks, is all. I hope you've had half as much fun reading this as I have writing it. I also hope to hear what you thought of the whole story. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me!**


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